


Fortune Favors the Bold

by Aspidities, RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Lexa (The 100), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cleopatra!Clarke, Egyptian AU, F/F, Impregnation, Julius Caesar!Lexa, Knotting, Mating, Omega Clarke, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 20:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14626014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspidities/pseuds/Aspidities, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: In 48BC, Lexa Caesar, the great Roman general, has crossed into Egypt, intending to conquer. Clarke, Egypt's ousted omega Queen, has other plans. Rolled into a rug and delivered to the feet of the alpha invader, she intends to make her bid for the throne at any cost....





	Fortune Favors the Bold

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! We’d like to welcome you to an absolutely filthy, 100%-non-accurate episode of Clexa History today! Sit tight class, and for those seated in the first five rows: you will get wet. 
> 
> In all seriousness, welcome to our collab! We (RaeDMagdon and I) are so excited to share this passion project with you. It was great fun to write, and we hope you enjoy. For the historically minded among you, you may note some details missing here but I can’t go into Ptolemaic dynastic intrigue as much as I want to. Anyone who wants to read more should check out Margeret George’s _Memoirs of Cleopatra_ , which is where I essentially cribbed this entire scene.
> 
> History Notes:
> 
> 1) Ptolemy was one of Alexander the Great’s friends, and was given Egypt as a part of the conquest. The real Cleopatra was decended from Macedonian/Greek ancestry and wasn’t Egyptian at all, so we mention that.
> 
> 2) The Ptolemies, much like the Lannisters, married sibling to sibling to follow the Egyptian pharaoh tradition, and the real Cleopatra was actually married to her brother, like Clarke was married to (ew) Bellamy, HOWEVER in both cases the marriage was a sham and never consummated. No incest here. Just fake incest...people like that. 
> 
> 3.) Caesar at this point was married to a Roman noblewoman, but here we’re using Costia as that example and she’s dead. Super dead. So neither Clarke nor Lexa is married here, although neither is a virgin. 
> 
> 4.) For those wondering: No, it’s likely the real Cleopatra was never actually delivered naked/rolled in a rug to the feet of Julius Caesar, but she did bear him a son. Creative license was strongly used. Don’t quote this fanfic in your schoolwork, pls. 
> 
> 5.) To set the scene: Egypt is in the midst of a civil war, and Clarke/Cleopatra is losing because her brother is backed by Rome. In order to change the tide, Clarke/Cleopatra needs Caesar/Lexa’s support, and it’s rumored that she is a real thirstqueen....
> 
> Any questions or overflowing praises can be directed to @raedmagdon or @bitterbones_87

The rug was hot, smelly, and dusty, and the longer Clarke remained rolled in it, the more she worried she would suffocate and die.

 _Damn Apollodoros for this rug, and damn me for neglecting to insist upon a vase or statue instead. This rug may well be my tomb before my plan even has a chance to fail._ She flopped bonelessly, wincing as each step jarred her spine, but the servants who carried her could not appear to support the rug more than was normal, or this dangerous plan would fall apart before she reached her intended target.

Clarke could not help but think of the corpses of the ancient pharaohs who had ruled hundreds of years beyond. The priests of Ra still practiced mummification of cats and crocodiles and baboons, with salts and the ancient herbs and rites of the Book of the Dead. She had been prepared, her body washed and perfumed before entering her tomb, just as the pharaohs of old, and the thought did not give her much comfort as she contemplated their shared potential fate.

She heard muffled voices over the stink and heat of her prison, and the slap of the servants’ bare feet on the tile of the palace. Her palace. The glorious hall of her ancestors, the throne of her father…defiled first by the rebellion of her brother, and now by these Roman invaders, come to Egypt, land of her forebears, in search of an easy conquest. And yet, if her plan was successful, the Roman invaders would become Roman allies. They would learn that she was no mere barbarian Queen. She was a Ptolemy, descended from the line of Alexander the Great, and she would take her kingdom back.

Using what was between her legs, if necessary.

The servants ascended the grand marble stairs to the royal apartments, and Clarke sucked in a pained breath, her neck jouncing horribly with each step. This plan of hers would either be a success, or she would die in this suffocating spiraled hell, which smelled of rancid animal fats and the dust and grime of the road, all of which she knew must be coating her skin and hair. She was glad she had chosen to wear a light shift. The heat was stifling, practically unbearable.

Suddenly, the world was yanked away from her. She went rolling across the sleek onyx floor, seeing flashes of Roman boots, armored shins and the bottoms of the decorative vases she’d selected. They were in her personal chambers. Caesar must have come here instead of the throne room. Her vision spun, and she almost vomited up the contents of her stomach, but prevailed, bracing her palms on the floor as she tried to right herself.

“A gift from the Nile,” one of her servants said. “The Queen of Egypt herself.”

Shouts and the clanking of spears followed. Clarke swallowed, closing her eyes, and prayed to her great conquering ancestor that her plan would not cause the death of her servants or herself. She opened them again, however, as a hand brushed her arm, lifting her to her feet. The guards surrounding her stopped in their tracks. A cool set of grey-green eyes assessed her, sweeping down her form, and plucked a strand of filthy carpet fiber from her hair. Clarke wanted to blush, but she held proud, staring back into the eyes of the conqueror of half of the known world, the mighty alpha of renown.

“Not an _Egyptian_ , herself, though.” The quiet voice that spoke was one accustomed to being heard without having to shout. Caesar was not what Clarke was expecting. The Wolf of Rome was small, slight of frame, and her braided hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders. She was dressed for relaxation, while her attending warriors wore studded armor and carried weapons.

They called her Augustus Alexus Caesar, the Bold. The Cunning. Lexa. Though to use her common name to her face was to invite the fury of the greatest tactician Rome had ever seen...Still, Clarke couldn’t help but think of her as Lexa, seeing her now, not much older than herself, barely taller than her smallest warrior. _Lexa_ , the Wolf of Rome.

They said she had been captured by pirates, and kept alive for ransom, and swore to her captors she would see them die screaming...but the pirates liked her fierce tongue and jibes so much they let her mingle freely with the crew, made a pet of her. When she was freed, however, she turned upon the entire fleet and hunted them down, burning them alive on their masts. This Caesar was not like the bluster of Romans past: she _always_ made good on her word. She had crossed the Rubicon, she had chased old Pompey half across the world, and now she chased his son. Here, to Egypt.

Clarke was impressed by Lexa’s boldness. Even with all these guards, there could have been a knife hidden in the rug. Lexa was clearly not concerned, because she continued to hold Clarke upright. And Clarke needed to be held, because the alpha’s confidence wasn’t all that impressed her. Her councilors had said Caesar was a warrior, and a veteran battle commander. They had told her alliances must be made, and she had acquiesced, but only from duty to her people and her land. They had failed to mention — for how could they know? — Caesar’s proud, fierce beauty, and how _good_ she smelled, so close…

“My ancestry is Macedonian, as well you know,” Clarke said proudly, lifting her chin as she fought the urge to respond to the alpha’s scent. “My father’s line goes back to Alexander the Great. A conqueror, like yourself.”

That was a controversial statement. It was well known that the Wolf of Rome preferred to view herself as a great liberator, not a conqueror. The guards murmured, but no hand or sword moved to strike Clarke down. The stillness between her and the Roman commander was absolute.

Lexa’s bright green eyes glittered. “Your enemies said you were clever. As passionate and courageous as an alpha, for all that you are an omega. They did not mention your beauty.” She leaned closer, nostrils flaring.

Clarke allowed the breach of personal space. In fact, she shifted forward, casting the net of her omega-smell over the alpha currently inspecting her. “My enemies would have you kill me and supplant me with my brother, Bellamy. But I can assure you, that is not what would benefit you most.” She allowed the alpha to circle her, turning to keep eye contact.

“Oh?” Lexa’s lips curled in a self-satisfied smile. “And what will you offer that would benefit me more than your brother’s throne? His claim is more legitimate than your own.”

Clarke ignored the dig. She had the unshakable feeling that Lexa was testing her, so she remained stalwart in the face of the alpha’s goading. “I offer you myself,” she said, letting her hands drop to exhibit her body. “I offer you the gift of the Nile.”

The pupils of Lexa’s eyes widened, nearly swallowing her green irises. Her throat bobbed, and Clarke did not miss the way she licked her lips. She was clearly interested. That much was obvious from the swell of lustful alpha scent, as well as the intensity of her stare.

“Leave us,” Lexa said to her guards, barely sparing them a glance. Her gaze remained locked with Clarke’s, no longer inspecting, but devouring. Obediently, the guards departed in a swift shuffle of boots. Clarke’s servants slipped away as well, sensing they were no longer needed. They left her and Lexa alone, regarding each other like two lions circling the same kill.

“If you hope to win my support, you will have to offer more than your body, omega.”

 _Omega._ The way Lexa said the word was not a threat, nor was it distasteful or degrading, as though she were chewing on something unpleasant. The reminder of Clarke’s status was exactly that: a reminder. _You are an omega. I am an alpha. Show me exactly what you can offer me._

“Your eyes say otherwise,” Clarke murmured. “Later, we can discuss how I am the most beloved of my line in generations. I speak Egypt’s language. I walk among her people. I have rebuilt her bones stronger and more beautiful than my ancestors dreamed. Under my rule, she has flourished, and the fruit she bears will be the envy of the world. But for now...” She unfastened the clasps at her shoulders, allowing her shift fall in a pool around her feet. “You would be wise to admit that you are more interested in the fruit I will bear you.”

***

To Lexa’s shame, she could not summon an immediate response. She remained silent, gaping, as the generous golden curves of Clarke’s body drew her inexorably forward, like a ship toward the brilliant beacon of Alexandria’s lighthouse. She had seen that particular wonder only recently, and it too had left her breathless and at a loss for words.

There were some who claimed Clarke was a goddess reincarnated, Isis or Aphrodite, but to compare her to them, Lexa thought, did Clarke a disservice. Egypt’s young queen glowed with the lustrous power of a deity, to be sure, and yet she was exquisitely human as well, radiating a powerful and obtainable warmth no goddess’s statue could muster. It was a warmth that said ‘ _Come closer,_ ’ and so Lexa did, crossing the distance between them until she and Clarke were nose to nose.

“Rumors of my appetites are grossly exaggerated,” she said, once she finally found her voice.

“I doubt that very much.” Clarke breached the small amount of space that remained between them, stroking Lexa’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Your ‘appetites’ are quite obvious, I’m afraid.”

Only then did Lexa become aware of the heavy ache between her legs. As her attention shifted downward, she found it difficult to believe she hadn’t noticed before. Practically all of the blood in her body had rushed to her cock, causing it to tent the front of her robes. She gritted her teeth, but it was too late to will her body into compliance. In the span of a few minutes, this sultry and determined omega had managed to break her ironclad control.

Lexa swallowed, but it did little to smooth the rasp of her voice. “I find the implication that I will mount any omega who presents for me insulting.”

Clarke smirked. “Then fortune favors you, because I am _not_ just any omega.” Her fingers, which had danced like tongues of flame over Lexa’s cheek, gripped her hair instead, drawing her in for a deep kiss.

The meeting of their mouths shook the entire room, or at least Lexa thought so. An earthquake was born between them as Clarke sought entrance to her mouth, expertly coaxing her lips apart to brush her tongue within. Clarke tasted of omega, of promise, of sweet water on the hottest of afternoons. Sweat sprouted along Lexa’s skin, causing her to shudder.

She had not lied before. Rumors of her sexual appetites _were_ grossly exaggerated, partially by her own design. And yet, Clarke was proving to be her undoing. Lexa understood why Egypt adored her. She was half-wild for Clarke herself after only a few minutes in her company. All of her training as a soldier and a leader, years of carefully constructed control, crumbled before the passion of Clarke’s kiss. Deeply buried instincts breached the surface, the desire to take and claim — only this time, it was not a kingdom she sought to conquer, but the soft, willing omega who sank into their embrace as though she already knew she belonged there.

Clarke moaned into Lexa’s mouth, and a thrill leapt through Lexa’s skin as she smelled the sweetness of the omega’s desire. The Egyptian Queen was rumored to be Pompey’s lover, as well as supposedly having been married to her own brother. These Ptolemaic incests were concerning, but Lexa couldn’t find it in herself to care about whatever past Clarke had. The omega was too beguiling. Too intoxicating. It had been some years since Lexa’s campaigns had left her free to entertain the affections of a woman. Following Costia’s death, she had spurned most advances, from noblewomen and camp followers alike. But the touch of this omega, the wicked, gliding heat of her tongue…

Lexa grasped Clarke’s generous hips, grinding the source of her ardor against the omega’s damp curls. Her length strained beneath her robes, pounding with furious insistence. She broke the kiss, ducking in search of the Queen’s harshly beating pulse, and scented there, pulling her lips back over her teeth to draw the aroma in deep. Already, her jaws ached to hold the omega in a mating bite, to sink into her sweet flesh and claim her, fully, as a Roman conquest. She restrained herself only by sheer force of will.

“And what of _your_ appetites, oh Queen of the Nile?” she asked, breathing harshly against the smooth column of neck that rivaled the finest marble.  “I have heard them call you the Spider Silk of Egypt. They say you lay with your lovers and then have them killed, so that none may try for your throne.”

“Did you not yell ‘let the dice fly high’ as you crossed the Rubicon?” Clarke’s fingers twisted in the curls of hair at the base of Lexa’s neck, and she hissed, eyes going to slits at the challenge. “I thought Caesar to be a gambler.”

“And what am I gambling, here?” She brazenly cupped a breast, stroking the dusky pink bud of Clarke’s nipple, which rose eagerly to her touch. “That I should aid in your attempts to supplant your brother? A risky bet, given what you do to those who give you pleasure…”

Lexa was only half-teasing. Beneath her languid appraisal of the omega’s fine form, she was assessing. Though Clarke was beautiful, her claim was supported by a thread, whereas Ptolemy Bellamy, spoiled, indignant child though he may be, was supported by the older of the councilors, and had more financial backing. She had not come to conquer Egypt, only to chase Pompey, but the burgeoning civil war between the formerly-married siblings was too enticing a gem to refuse.

Egypt was a heady dream of a conquest that no one since the days of Alexander could have seized. Yet here it was, ripe for the taking. She had only to choose a side, really. All that mattered was her militaristic support. In backing Ptolemy the Younger, she’d chosen a side already, and if she kept it, she could perhaps go on to meet Pompey in the field before he gathered his strengths.

Then again, Clarke was a queen of the people. This was well-known. She had rallied support from nearby Nubian allies, distributed grain during droughts and had given life and weight to the ancient Egyptian religion, donning headpieces and adorning herself with gold scarab beetles and asps. She was not an ally to be ignored, merely because she was under-supported at the moment. That could change. Many things in the spectrum of politics, even in Rome, were minute-by-minute tosses of the dice, gambles Lexa knew all-too-intimately.

And Clarke was, after all, very beautiful.

Bold as well, to come into the palace in such a manner; former home or no, she could have been killed upon entry. Lexa admired that bravery, and the force of will. Had Clarke been born an alpha, she may well have been a fearsome general. But all conquerors at one point need to learn what it is to be sundered, taken captive, bent low. She herself had learned that. And, as Lexa’s cock stirred between her thighs, pulsing urgently for attention, she thought she knew exactly how to test Clarke’s willingness to serve her people.

“Gambler though I am, I would be a fool to walk into a cobra’s lair without assurances.” She blew across the omega’s pulse, savoring Clarke’s brief shiver. “Show me what makes you different from any other omega I could mount at my pleasure. Show me why the Queen of the Nile should have her title returned.” She stepped away, and allowed her eyes to roam over Clarke’s lovely, honey-gold skin. “Kneel and _show_ me you understand what submitting to Caesar means.”

***

Clarke wetted her lips with her tongue. Water rose in her mouth, but it was a mere trickle compared to the flood that spread from the join of her thighs. Clear strands of desire clung to her flesh, even as they dripped down toward her trembling knees. Lexa’s scent had intrigued her. Lexa’s kiss had stirred the ocean of her desire. But Lexa’s _words_ ! Confident, expectant, and yet the subtlest bit imploring beneath the trappings of royal decree, they brewed storms within Clarke’s belly.  
  
If she felt their connection this strongly, surely Lexa’s own predicament was worsening by the moment.  
  
_Oh, I will serve you, Caesar. I will serve you so well that you will dream of this mouth years from now, when I am seated upon my rightful throne instead of lying sweetly in your bed._  
  
While Egypt sank gracefully to her knees, brushing her hair back behind her ears, Rome made short work of her robes. She opened them swiftly, letting them fall to the floor with little regard for her nakedness. Clarke did not miss the sigh of relief that escaped as the alpha’s cock sprang forth. She could not decide whether to be pleased or mildly annoyed by the fact that it was the nicest one she had ever seen. It was wonderfully thick, rising from within a neatly trimmed thatch of dark curls. Long too, and colored a healthy pink, a few shades darker than Lexa’s tanned skin.

That was all well and good, but the eager flush of the head, topped with a glinting pool of precome, had Clarke swallowing early. Perhaps the smell had something to do with it. It was Caesar, concentrated — the demanding musk of alpha, but clean and sharp, causing the very air to taste of sex. Altogether, Clarke had to admit that Lexa was much more appealing than anticipated.  
  
A low growl rumbled within Lexa’s chest, not quite a warning, but too insistent to be accurately described as ‘encouragement’. It was a signal that Clarke should proceed, and she did so, although not in the way Lexa obviously expected. Clarke flattened her palms on the alpha’s tense abdominal muscles, stroking them as she might smooth a wrinkled sheet. To her delight, those same hard muscles twitched.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Clarke gazed up at Lexa through fluttering lashes. “Serving Rome, of course,” she said, all seductive innocence.  
  
Lexa opened her mouth, presumably to argue with Clarke’s interpretation of the task before her, but all that came out was a low moan. Clarke would have smirked, if she hadn’t latched her mouth onto a tender patch of flesh beside Lexa’s navel. The alpha’s proud cock bobbed beneath Clarke’s chin, prodding her collarbone, but she ignored it even though her instincts urged her to do otherwise. She sucked the skin she had caught, unafraid to risk using her teeth.  
  
Her gamble paid off. One of Lexa’s hands shot out, finding purchase on top of her head. Clarke took it as a victory. Lexa pushed down, but not in an effort to hurry her along. _She needs something to hold onto. Perhaps I should have told her to sit._ Exceptionally pleased with herself, Clarke licked and kissed a languid trail toward Lexa’s cock. It was all the more swollen for lack of attention, and she exhaled a single breath over the weeping tip, enjoying the way the alpha flinched at the whispered promise of contact.  
  
“If this is how you serve Rome,” Lexa said, “perhaps Rome would be better off serving herself.”  
  
Clarke licked her lips again, for show this time. “I think not.”  
  
She pulled Lexa’s head between her lips, judging the amount of pressure she should use by the impatient flexing of the alpha’s thighs. When the lean muscles clenched to Clarke’s satisfaction, she knew she had hit upon something. She swirled her tongue over the divot at the tip, gathering wetness that tasted much the same as Lexa smelled: strong, and more pleasing than expected.  
  
Lexa’s fingers tightened in her hair. “Mm…”  
  
It was a small noise, quiet enough that Clarke’s ears strained to catch it, but she savored it for what it was: a sign that she could breach this alpha’s defenses after all. Lexa seemed determined to fuck her with a certain amount of control and detachment, but Clarke knew she needed to do better than that. It took a decent helping of wildness and passion to be a truly great leader, something Clarke was certain Lexa had, somewhere deep down.  
  
_And perhaps… perhaps it’s something I want to unleash._ She had not gone into this encounter expecting to enjoy herself, but neither was she opposed to the possibility. Her marriage to her child-brother was mere tradition. They had never even mated, much to her relief. There was no reason she shouldn’t enjoy Rome’s full power unleashed upon her body. It would be to both their benefits.  
  
Having learned the necessary basics, Clarke proceeded with both business and pleasure in mind. She paid close attention to Lexa’s noises, to her movements, to the steady throbbing of her cock and what made it twitch with longing. (Apparently, Lexa enjoyed long licks, short sucks of her head, and wasn’t entirely opposed to carefully applied nibbles.) But Clarke also granted herself permission to lap leisurely at the slit, unwilling to deny herself a taste.

She had been with alphas before, all powerful in their own right, but something about this thin, wiry woman cut in the shape of a warrior piqued her interest in ways she failed to put words to. The fingers threading into her hair were war-calloused, more used to holding swords than handling lovers, but they were still quite soft in their own, rough way. Clarke could feel the alpha’s strength, to be sure, but there was a kindness to it, as well as an appealing sort of surety.

Clarke purred around the length that filled her mouth. Her inner omega had chosen well in this ill-advised adventure, no matter what her councilors feared. The signs of age-old submission tickled her thighs, and her instincts demanded that she part them, that she arch her back and present. She was able to keep the impulse at bay, thankfully, due to royal training and the nobility of her birth, but oh how she _ached_. Her lips fastened to the alpha’s cockhead, and she sucked like a drowning woman, so great was her need.

Lexa gave a choked moan. Her hips stuttered in a quick burst, but she pulled back, withdrawing before Clarke could protest. Clarke tried to follow, but a hand at the nape of her neck prevented it, and a frustrated whine escaped her lips. She closed her jaws with a snap, as if she could take the sound back from the air, but it was too late. Lexa had heard. Her features settled into a conqueror’s lazy grin, even though her reddened cock looked full to bursting.

“It has been many years since I came close to knotting from the pleasure of a mouth alone,” she admitted in a panting breath. She stroked Clarke’s nape, and the feel of her fingers imparting such soothing approval made the Queen shudder in primitive response. “You are skilled indeed.”

“Why, then, did you pull back?” Clarke remarked, testily. The alpha had played her body against her like a traitorous fiddle. She was, however, begrudgingly impressed. Lexa had sidestepped her royal entitlement with ease.

Lexa ignored the question, her eyes strangely lit. “When first we came to this palace, do you know what my men wanted to do to it?”

“I don’t know. Tear it apart for spoils, I suppose?”

“That, and worse. It was all I could do to stop them looting the gold from the floors when we arrived. From plucking the lapis lazuli eyes from the reliefs of your ancestors.” As she spoke, the alpha’s fingers drifted to Clarke’s cheek, and then down to her lips, almost tenderly. “I told them the greatest treasures of Egypt had yet to surface, and not to grab the first bright baubles they saw like squabbling pups. I told them the greatest gift of Alexandria would reveal itself in time.”

“What do you mean?”

Lexa leaned down and kissed her. It was a wild, messy one, but it stole Clarke’s breath all the same. Her chest had been hollowed out, and when she broke away for air, the alpha smiled as if she had a secret. Clarke stared stupidly, panting like one of her own prized chariot horses.

“It means, oh Queen of the Nile, that my seed is better spent elsewhere.”

Lexa’s fingers dropped to Clarke’s breast, tweaking her pale pink nipple, and she gasped as she processed the alpha’s meaning. _Gods, she means to…_

“Present for me.”

The command landed sharp and heavy, like a whiplash. Clarke almost jumped. A deep, primal shiver ran down her spine, and her knees weakened as desire coiled deep in her belly, a serpent with many heads. She fell forward onto the blessed relief of her hands and pressed her cheek to the cool onyx floor. She raised her hips, arching instinctively. _What are you doing? The Queen does not present! She seduces alphas with power, not submission._ But Clarke’s inner voice seemed far away, unimportant. She pillowed her face in her bent elbows and closed her eyes.

Clarke sensed Lexa prowling around her even though she couldn’t see, and the anticipation of those light steps was agony. Her thighs shook, and her ribs heaved as thick, pungent alpha desire entered her nose. The tips of her breasts dragged against the cold tile, and her nipples pebbled into hard beads as her curls became soaked with the evidence of her arousal. A hand on her spine made Clarke startle. Her skin tingled, and the touch wrenched a tiny sigh from her throat at the madness and glory both.

“Responsive,” Lexa murmured. “I like that.” Her fingers splayed over Clarke’s upraised cheeks, giving a possessive squeeze. “Nice and firm. Now let’s see you spread.”

Clarke quivered, fighting the impulse to spit a haughty denial. Instead, she allowed her back to curve, widening her knees. Cool air hit her damp heat, and she knew her scent was filling the room, letting the alpha know that an omega was aroused, waiting, wet and slick.

***

During her time as a conqueror, Lexa had beheld many beauties. She had feasted her eyes on the wonders of the world, and through her efforts, almost all of them had come under Roman control. What she beheld now, however, put the pyramids themselves to shame: the Queen of Egypt, balanced on her hands and knees, face pressed to the floor with her full, round backside raised enticingly into the air.

Clarke’s thighs shone with sticky trails of wetness, and droplets of dew clung to her damp blonde curls. The hair was trimmed short, and like the petals of a spring flower, her pink lips blossomed open, inviting Lexa to stare at the gleaming red ring nestled between them. It pulsed as she watched, as if to invite her in. And in she would go. Her cock demanded a warm, wet sheath, and not just any would do. She wanted _this_ omega, right here and now.  
  
With no thought for teasing, or games of seduction and politics, Lexa surged forward. She fell to her knees, ignoring the loud slap and mild lance of discomfort that followed. Clarke had reeled her in like a fish on a line, and she was too eager to feel ashamed. She grasped the omega’s hips, jerking them back and rubbing her length along the wetness that waited for her — wetness _she_ had caused.  
  
“Ah!” Clarke’s cry echoed around the room, and Lexa’s desire burned all the brighter. This was no mere political alliance. It was lust, instinct. She intended to make this haughty omega scream loud enough to fill the palace with the sound of their passion. Everyone would know that the Queen of Egypt had been conquered, and by whom.  
  
Lexa attempted to position her cock at Clarke’s entrance, but couldn’t bear to let go of the omega’s ass. It overflowed her hands, and yet she tried her best to hold as much of the soft, pale flesh as possible, determined to have it for her own. That meant she only had the use of her hips, and though she missed her mark in her own enthusiasm, her thrusts did produce some pleasurable, albeit unintentional, results. The head of her cock nudged Clarke’s clit, and she made another melodious sound as her body locked up tight.  
  
A thought occurred to Lexa — foolish, perhaps, but infectious. _What if I make her come before I even enter her?_ As badly as she wanted to pull the omega onto her cock and begin thrusting, the possibility did have a wicked sort of appeal. She was willing to wager no one else had ever done such a thing. Surely none of the Queen’s other lovers had caused her to come before their own greed got the better of them.  
  
Though her heart pounded frantically in her breast, urging her to _fuck, mate, breed,_ Lexa summoned all the restraint she had developed as a warrior and a general in order to repeat her earlier motion. The way Clarke’s wetness smeared over her shaft soothed some of her disappointment, and the slippery heat almost allowed her to pretend she was already inside.  
  
“In,” Clarke pleaded, rocking her hips backward in a desperate rhythm. “In, in, in…” She chanted the word until it became a mantra, one Lexa longed to obey. It took the full force of her will to resist and continue gliding through Clarke’s folds, and her thrusts became less measured, her aim less true.  
  
Clarke did not seem to care. She was lost in her own world, breasts swaying, fingers flexing over the smooth floor as she clawed for a grip she could not find. “In, in, in,” had turned to, “please, please, please,” and Lexa was well-pleased herself by the Queen’s responses. She had been warned that Clarke was a seductress, but nothing could have prepared her for how intoxicating the omega’s responses were. Her cock throbbed and drooled for want of Clarke’s cunt, and she wasn’t certain how much longer she could continue this game.  
  
Luckily, she achieved her goal with relative ease. After a few lucky strokes, during which she managed to pass over the stiffened point of Clarke’s clit several times in a row, the omega went rigid. Every muscle in her body quivered, and she let out a low, keening noise that sounded more animal than human. Wetness gushed from within her, and Lexa gasped as it flooded over her cock, warmer and waterier than the coating she already had.

Victory surged through Lexa’s veins, such as she had not felt since standing in the waist-deep waters of the Rubicon, awash in enemy blood. She roared her glory to the ceiling, and her hips jerked, sending her cock skimming over Clarke’s clenching entrance. There came another ascending cry in response, inflaming Lexa’s blood further. The thrusting was mildly comforting, allowing her to release some of her tension, but she needed more serious relief. The game was up. She’d won. Time to claim her prize.

“That’s it,” she rasped, fumbling below her for the slippery length of her cock. She lined up, and allowed herself the comfort of grazing her teeth along the Queen’s lovely, lithely-bent spine. Instinct urged her to make a more solid bite, but restraint kept her in check. “Now you will take my seed more easily.”

Clarke gasped with indignance and primal pleasure, but her body blossomed open all the same. Lexa slipped just inside, not yet fully entering, and grunted in frustration. She gave an inelegant shove of her hips, and her head popped in, conquering the omega in a single smooth stroke. Clarke’s head raised on a long, low moan, one Lexa couldn’t help but echo. She watch in wonder as those glistening pink lips split open around her shaft, stretching to receive her.

“Gods,” Clarke choked out. “You’re… _so thick…”_

Lexa answered the praise with deeper thrusts, relishing the sweet cries that punctuated her actions. She was almost in, such was the depth the new angle afforded her, and having Clarke present this way only gave her alpha more reason to _fill_ as deeply as possible. It took every ounce of her inner reserve to keep the pace slow, but she gritted her teeth and focused. Clarke’s tight heat opened for her, but it was barely able to accommodate her girth. She needed to be patient in order to claim all Egypt had to offer.

Finally, Lexa’s length bottomed out. Clarke quivered in submission, releasing a long, loud moan, and Lexa joined the sound. Her cockhead nudged the narrow mouth of Clarke’s cervix, and she shuddered with the primal knowledge that her seed would have a straight shot. She jerked her hips, growling as she searched for more room even though there was none.

As Lexa increased her speed, Clarke’s fingers scrabbled for purchase on the floor. Desperate, high-pitched cries came from her throat as Lexa slammed into her, and the room filled with the lusty, wet smack of their bodies joining. Lexa was lost in it. She gripped Clarke’s lovely ass, squeezing so hard she knew there would be bruising, and increased her force, drunk on the silky sensation of Clarke’s channel.

If she had been cognizant, she would have been alarmed. Her composure was slipping away as she drove into Clarke’s sweet, clenching wetness, rutting like a mindless animal. Instead, desire filled her brain, and alpha pride swelled within her chest as she relished the slick heat of the Queen’s cunt. Inspiration struck, and she leaned over the smooth expanse of the Queen’s back to whisper in her ear. “Look between your legs, omega. See how truly you are conquered.”

Clarke peered back over her shoulder, her eyes bleary and uncomprehending until Lexa gave another sharp jerk against her ass. She gasped, seeming to come awake, and dropped her head forward, gazing at the upside-down sight of Lexa’s cock entering her over and over. She shuddered, and Lexa could tell she was seeing the pinkness of her inner lips stretched tight around the shaft. Lexa dug her fingers in harder and gave a deep thrust, reveling in the knowledge that Clarke was watching their joining.

Of course, she had an even better view from above. She pulled Clarke’s cheeks wide, skimming her thumbs over the pouting lips of the omega’s pussy and peeling them further apart. She even stroked the pearling wetness along her thrusting shaft and using it to circle the Queen’s other, much tighter entrance. Clarke keened, and Lexa wondered if the omega might reach a second peak right on the heels of her first. The thought of Clarke coming again, around her this time instead of just for her, caused her to thrust out of rhythm. She snarled, attempting to complete her most recent stroke, but something prevented the motion: the rapid inflation of her knot.  
  
Lexa ground her teeth. She had been so swept up in plundering Clarke’s body that the pounding in the base of her shaft had blended with all of the other pleasurable sensations that churned through her. That ambiguity faded as her knot made itself known, demanding all her attention. The ache within her grew as Clarke’s tight entrance twitched against it, and Lexa’s vision went red. _In_ . She had to get it _in_ .  
  
Fortunately, Clarke was of a similar mind. She spread her dripping thighs wider, tilting her pelvis as high as she could. “Knot me, Caesar,” she moaned, and even though her voice was somewhat muffled by the floor, her plea was forceful enough to echo around the room, and within Lexa’s own head. _Knot me. Knot me. Knot me._ The Queen of Egypt was begging for her knot — verbally, physically, completely.  
  
Lexa stood no chance of withholding it. What Egypt craved, Rome would give. She moved her hands from Clarke’s ass to her thighs, seizing them in a steel grip as she shoved forward. There was resistance at first. For all the rumors of Clarke’s promiscuity, she was exceptionally tight, so tight that Lexa feared she might not fit at all. But then something gave. Lexa sank forward, and Clarke let out a yelp, followed by a loud wail of mingled pain and ecstasy.  
  
Lexa went rigid, forgetting how to breathe. Clarke’s satin walls had sucked her in, molding to her shape as if they had been made for her by the Gods themselves. Every significant inch of her was coated in sumptuous velvet, through which she could feel the furious rhythm of the omega’s heartbeat as she tried to accommodate the knot. Lexa could hold back no longer. She came at the first squeeze of Clarke’s muscles, with a triumphant roar loud enough to fill the entire palace.

Sharp stabs of pressure shot along her length, spilling from her cockhead in thick, urgent spurts. As the Nile flowed inevitably toward the sea, so did her seed fill Egypt’s womb, feeding the hot, slick channel to sate its hunger. And, just as the sea could never be sated, Clarke’s cunt drank up the flood as the soil on the riverbanks did during the first rains, with greedy, never-ending thirst.

While Lexa trembled, a slave to pleasure even as she savored the sweetness of conquest, Clarke slithered and arched beneath her, whining for more. Though they were already joined as deeply as possible, it seemed to Lexa as though the omega wanted them to share one body, to know each other even more deeply. She wasn’t surprised when Clarke came, milking her knot with feverish urgency, but the intensity overpowered her. She rutted harder, determined to fill her chosen mate with every drop she possessed.  
  
_Mate_. The thought was pleasing to Lexa’s lust-addled brain. Clarke would make an excellent mate. Bear her strong pups. Pups who would inherit both the beauty of Egypt and the might of Rome. It was a very pleasurable solution to a very complex problem, and one that appealed greatly to her pride. There would be no question of whom should sit on Egypt’s throne once Clarke’s belly was swollen with her litter, and as the omega twisted in the heights of her pleasure below, Lexa leaned forward, teeth bared, hovering over the Queen’s thundering pulse point.

***

Clarke had never allowed anyone to knot her before, not even during the throes of her heats. Her royal obligations had kept her true to the crown, rather than her heart, when allowing her partners to enter her. None dared try and test the Queen’s rule in bed; she always made it clear from the outset that she would kill anyone who tried (and a few examples had, of course, been made). Other suitors who pursued her during heats had been much more respectful after that. She also always insisted on them finishing outside the sacred temple of her body, for bearing a litter and raising pups would only expose her and her offspring to more royal plots, assassinations, and betrayals. With the state of affairs between her and her brother at war, there had never been a good time to give in to her body’s demands.

But here, bent like a willow in the throne room of her ancestors, allowing a conqueror from a foreign land to rut into her like a submissive captive, Clarke felt the walls of her resistance melting like wax figures in sunlight. The alpha was pressing against her, _pressing_ and _pressing..._ and at first she couldn’t understand why the wonderful thrusting wasn’t reaching the deep places where she needed it most, but then the swell nudged her clit, and she understood. Caesar’s knot. She _wanted_ it.

She opened her mouth to ask, but found she was already screaming for it, begging higher and louder than she’d ever heard herself plead for anything in her life. Her body quaked with need, and her cunt seemed suddenly desperate for more thickness to fill her, even though she could barely accommodating the alpha’s cock as it was. Lexa was generously gifted in girth, and there was hardly any room left inside her...but still, she needed it. Desperately, urgently. She would not be satisfied until she was fucked and filled, knotted and bred.

Lexa’s hands gripped her thighs like eagle’s talons, digging deep and forcing her still wider, and Clarke greedily submitted, a snake twisting in the claws of the bird of prey. The alpha gave a firm push, and the swelling bulge began to split her pink lips, stretching them wide. Once again, Clarke dropped her head, panting, to watch as the conqueror strained and huffed, attempting to push further inside. She shuddered at the sight of that pulsing, thick knot about to enter her, and a flood of wetness drenched Lexa’s base, coating it in preparation. The added lubrication aided the alpha’s efforts, and, with a sudden, burning rush that stole the air from Clarke’s lungs, Caesar’s knot clicked inside.

The heat and pressure was beyond anything she had ever felt before. Lexa’s very heartbeat thudded inside of her walls, and she felt every muscle and vein in the alpha’s cock. Her mouth fell open, and Lexa gave a groan behind her, seizing up as a strong jet of warmth spilled into Clarke’s depths. Clarke’s muscles spasmed greedily in response, demanding the flood as if she were the Nile itself. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she came again as Lexa emptied into her like the river delta, and she received the alpha’s gift, as fertile as the red soil on which she had been born.

She longed, with a sudden ecstatic realization, to carry a litter from this union. To see herself grow as round and fat as any breeding mare, content to bear Caesar the seed that had been planted in her womb. The thought should have terrified her, but she arched instead, crying out for more. Lexa’s breath hit her neck, and the low, primal growl struck like a bolt of lightning down her spine. The Great Caesar hovered over her pulse, teeth bared, and Clarke gasped as she felt the shudder of absolute need rattle her bones. _The bite._ Lexa was going to bite her. Claim her. Take her as utterly as any Roman conquest. And in that moment, Clarke knew exactly what she wanted.

Before the triumphant conqueror could sink her teeth in, Clarke turned, biting deeply into Lexa’s opposing shoulder. She tasted victory along with the sweetness of her chosen alpha’s sweat-soaked skin and coppery blood, and confidence flooded her mouth, reassuring her she’d made a fine, wise choice. Lexa roared in shock and lust, quaking within the grip of Clarke’s teeth, and Clarke barely had time to savor her enjoyment at turning the tables before Lexa dove forward to lay her own claim, pinning her flat to the floor. The alpha’s own bite was deep and forceful on the strained, exposed cord of Clarke’s neck, but she savored the pain for the promise it was.

Together, Egypt and Rome made their bond, tangled like twin serpents. Clarke inhaled Lexa’s scent through her nose, and it spoke of the alpha’s finest qualities, her strength and skill, as well as her weaknesses: her loneliness and her hardened resolve to stay that way. She knew, as the alpha moaned into her throat, that Lexa was tasting her omega gifts in the same way, as well as her failings. She did not fear, however. There was nothing to fear. She’d come all this way, bound in a rug, prepared for death, and instead she had found new life.

After a few minutes, which passed as slow as centuries to Clarke’s mind, Lexa’s rutting finally slowed. She released Clarke’s shoulder and heaved a deep sigh, collapsing forward with limbs spread wide. Relief swept through Clarke’s body. As thoroughly as she had enjoyed Lexa’s efforts, she doubted whether she could entertain them any longer without at least a brief rest. Still, the thought of indulging again made her wet, flushed skin tingle in anticipation…

_And we will do this again. We must. We have marked each other._

The realization should have frightened her, but Clarke remained at peace with her decision. Never before had she encountered an alpha quite like Caesar, and some part of her knew she never would again. Surely no other could match Rome’s strength and prowess, nor could they pass such fine qualities onto their pups. A smile curled Clarke’s lips as she considered that thought. Having marked and bred her, Lexa would have no choice but to support her claim now. She would have everything she had come for — her throne, Rome’s support — and more besides: a lover of incredible stamina and skill, and healthy heirs besides to rule in her name. Like Alexander, her brightness would burn for centuries to come.

“Well,” Clarke drawled once she had caught her breath, already knowing the answer to her statement. “Has Egypt proven her worth, or does Rome require more to pledge her allegiance?”

Lexa chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to the nape of Clarke’s neck. “Yes. Egypt will have Rome… provided Rome may also have Egypt whenever she wishes.”

Clarke released a happy sigh, resting her cheek on the cool marble floor. Lexa’s knot remained nestled within her, offering her sweet comfort now that the flames of her desire had been sated. “It seems we have come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. Our people will thank us for it.”

“Perhaps,” Lexa purred. “But later.” She gave a soft thrust, and a shiver raced down Clarke’s spine.

“You wish to seal our contract again already?”

“And why not?” Lexa lipped at Clarke’s neck, sucking the mark she had made there. Though the bruise was tender, Clarke felt only pleasure as the alpha renewed her claim. “There is no rush.”

“Our nations wait upon us,” Clarke said, even as she rocked back into Lexa’s slow rhythm.

“And they will wait a while longer.”

Clarke could not find the strength to argue. She surrendered once more, welcoming Lexa’s gentle movements within her. Their alliance had been sealed, but repeating the experience for pleasure alone would do no harm. In fact, she believed it would do _everyone_ quite a lot of good.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, Lord have mercy on our souls. 
> 
> Follow me or Rae on Tumblr for more!


End file.
